


Kingdoms of Clay: An Uncharted Story

by Themajicwalnut



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Gen, Treasure Hunting, Victor Sullivan & Sam Drake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23547775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themajicwalnut/pseuds/Themajicwalnut
Summary: Unlikely partners Victor Sullivan and Sam Drake are back in the game. On the hunt for lost Egyptian treasure, they must contend with tricks, traps, and puzzles, as they travel in search of another of history's lost secrets. With the help of their friends, the two embark on another globe-trotting adventure with rivals and enemies hot on their heels.But when the Ghosts of Sully's checkered past suddenly reveal themselves will the two escape with the treasure? Or has Sully's life of crime finally caught up with him?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue- A Rock and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the rights to any of the characters in this piece, if I include any images I will try and link to the original poster or source at the end of the chapter but none of them will be my own. Any history mentioned in the story is slightly inspired by aspects of true events but massively changed by me including several fictional historical figures. 
> 
> Please enjoy, this is a passion project but I will take any feedback readers would care to give.

_“I will even not rant about treachery. I was brought up in a sea of treachery and deceit and betrayal. I swam in it like perch in the Nile. I am completely at home in it. I shall not drown.”_

\- Margret George, The Memoirs of Cleopatra.

The first thing Victor Sullivan felt as he woke up was pain. The dull, aching pain first, the type which spread through his bones all too often these days, protesting every movement he made. But as consciousness swam before him he became aware of more. Something sharp and immediate in his left shoulder, the pain throbbed uncomfortably before another white-hot spear of it shot down his body. His head spun, his thoughts wouldn’t come straight, it felt like the entire percussion section was practising at the base of his skull. Every attempt to move or breathe or think was met with that thudding, unstoppable pain. It was the worst hangover you’ve ever had times a thousand, but he’d been around the block too many times to believe that was its cause. Forty years of being in his line of work had taught Victor a lot, chief among them, he knew blunt-force-trauma when he felt it. 

With great effort he forced his eyes open, the sudden influx of light sent a new wave of pain cascading through his head, but after what seemed like forever, it subsided. He sat behind the wheel of a battered 4x4, the windscreen cracked and the chassis looking like the outside of a cheese grater. Bumps and scrapes riddled the side of the car, ruining the clean red paint job, alongside other marks which he grimly recognised as bullet holes. Sully grimaced, “Sure as hell won’t be gettin’ the deposit back on this one” he muttered, to no-one in particular. He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, his slicked-back white hair was thick with dirt and blood, as was his meticulously groomed moustache. He saw the fist-sized wound on his forehead, slowly dripping blood into his right eye. A generous helping of cuts and bruises were scattered across his features, the deep wrinkles showing off his age. _I look… well, I look like shit_ he concluded. Though, in his sixty-odd years on earth, he’d certainly looked worse.

His eyes adjusted to the bright midday sun filtering through the car’s windscreen, after a few blinding seconds he could make out what was outside the open-topped vehicle. He was looking out over empty space, the void feeling like it stretched for an eternity before it’s sudden, inevitable, end on red rocks several hundred feet below. He was getting feelings of vertigo just looking at it. He closed his eyes and tried to regain his bearings. A crash, that explained the lousy state of both the car and his own body. It just left with one question.

_Where in the hell is this goddamn car parked?_

The goddamn car in question was parked on the edge of a wooden bridge, stretched precariously between two cliff-side paths. The tan wood braces were built into the rust-coloured rock, which stretched down several hundred feet on either side before meeting the roaring river below. The planks looked old and well worn, even now the splintered timbers groaned under the weight of the crashed jeep, the vehicle seemingly half-embedded into the planks. The car’s front two wheels spun over empty space, the entire vehicle see-sawing over one central pivot point. Sully shifted his weight experimentally, trying to get his feet under him. The car responded by rocking forwards, threatening to send both of them to a fiery end on the river's rocks below. 

He heard the cracking of wood beneath him, definitely not a good sign. From his experience, it was only a matter of time before something gave. With decisive action, he unbuckled his seat-belt and flung himself backwards. He’d hoped the sudden shift of weight would be enough to push the car onto more stable ground, but he heard the sound of splintering beams as the entire bridge seemed to shift. He scrambled over the back seats and towards the rear of the open-topped machine, he felt the weight falling away beneath him as he redoubled his efforts. He focused on moving, one hand in front of the other in a desperate climb towards solid ground. He finally got a foot on the back of the jeep and lept for the bridge, the sound of screeching metal giving way, following him as the car finally fell to gravity. He hit the bridge hard, knocking the wind from his lungs, the aged planks groaned painfully but the bridge was stable once more. The air was silent for a heartbeat before the car hit the bottom of the gorge, it exploded in a cloud of red flame, leaving only the burning husk of what he sat in moments ago.

"Okay, _definitely_ not getting the deposit back then."

It took him longer than he’d liked to get his breath back, his body cried out for rest but he couldn’t sleep, not yet. Now that the adrenaline had leaked from him he felt like he’d been hit by a truck… _in fact, make that two trucks,_ he decided. Checking himself over he spotted the slowly spreading patch of blood beneath the shoulder of his usual Havana shirt, he’d most definitely pulled his stitches, but that was a problem for another day. After what felt like an eternity he opened his eyes and pulled himself to his feet, every fibre of muscle in his body crying out in protest but he ignored it all. He still had a job to do. Sure this was a setback, but he’d faced plenty before. Sure they had a head-start but he could catch up, he just needed a car and-

_Wait, what was he doing?_

He swore, loudly. This wasn’t him, he was smarter than this. He’d considered himself many things over the years. A sailor, a con man, a treasure hunter, even a friend to some. But something he’d never been was goddamn stupid. He’d been in the game long enough to know how to play, which hands could beat the house and which you should just pack up and walk away from. It was supposed to be him who was the professional, who checked his pride at the door, who never let his emotions cloud his judgement. The follies of youth were far behind him, so why did this job make him feel like he was a goddamn kid again. 

But there was still that little voice in the back of his head, egging him on. This job was different from the others, as much as he hated to admit, it was personal. And there were people out there counting on him. _Chloe, Cutter_ … _Sam. Oh God, Sam_. A cold realisation spread through his gut, soon replaced by the hard feeling of determination. He checked his supplies, rifling through his pockets. His lighter, his maps, one .44 calibre revolver, five bullets, three cigars. God knows how many of them there were, but they hadn’t considered one thing.

His name was Victor goddamn Sullivan, and he was far too old for this shit.


	2. Just Business

**Rio De Janeiro, Brazil**

**Three Weeks Earlier**

The soft sounds of music filled the evening air, the rambling melody of the string quartet creating the calm, sophisticated atmosphere Sully found himself in. The grounds of the mansion spread out before him, manicured lawns and intricate hedge sculptures giving way to the dark, dense jungle. The wild unknown Brazil was so well known for. Sully was no stranger to South America, so much virtually unexplored wilderness made it a treasure hunters dream, and, if you knew what you were doing, there was quite the market for misplaced rare antiquities. That was one of the downsides of this line of work, Sully lamented, he had spent a lot of time in Brazil, but it seemed like he was always either waist-deep in mud and mosquitos or worse, getting shot at by some mobster or other. He never got time to see the sights, but now, looking out over these grounds, the night air cool against his skin,  _ this is livin' _ he thought, savouring that one still, perfect moment. 

Sully leaned gently against a waist-high stone wall, glass of whiskey in one hand, and lit cigar in the other. He took a long drag, savouring the slow burn of the smoke in his lungs. He couldn't help but enjoy the view, the mansion grounds were meticulously crafted, the emerald green lawn scattered with a collection of small stone buildings and statues, in a distinctly European style, roman at a guess. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if some of those statues were the genuine article. It would be just like his host, putting two-thousand-year-old sculptures in what is essentially her back yard. And where the grounds were impressive the mansion itself was goddamn breathtaking, the red-brick facade evoking a particularly classic feel, at least compared to Rio's modern style. It was like a 16th-century English mansion, just placed in the middle of the jungle. It must have had at least a hundred rooms, spreading out into different wings and annexes, cellars and attics. You could live there for a hundred years and not be able to see all of its secrets

But Sully couldn't let himself relax, though luxurious he was here on a job all the same. A cold pit of unease had settled itself deep in his stomach, something was wrong, he knew it. He wanted to fidget, to pace, to do something to let out his nerves but he couldn't give anything away. When he was on the job he needed to keep his head, nothing could jeopardise that. But still, that little voice whispered in the back of his mind,  _ He's taking too long, _ it said,  _ he's been caught... or worse _ . The night air felt just a little colder against his skin, he'd wait five more minutes, he decided, then he was going after him.

“Victor?... Victor, you there?” Sam’s voice crackled in his earpiece.

The tension flooded from Sully's body, “Jesus Christ kid, where were you?” He swore under his breath. “You nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack.”

"Well, I'm sorry, not all of us can walk in on a red carpet" Sam retorted, sarcasm dripping from his words. "It took me a minute to get past the guards and find a good vantage point"

Sully turned and scanned the rooftops, according to the plan Sam should be somewhere along the east wing, hidden among the rust-coloured tiles and intricate sculptures. After a minute he gave up  _ damn _ , he muttered  _ the kid's good _ . It had been with some trepidation that Sully partnered with the likes of Sam Drake, he had known him for years but they never really saw eye to eye. Sully practically raised his younger brother Nathan but never really knew Sam, he supposed he never really made an effort, he'd always seen Sam as a punk, a kid with more guts than smarts and an axe to grind with the world. But that was all in the past now, before everyone thought Sam was dead, before the Avery treasure and before Sam betrayed both him and Nate. But that was really a story for another time. Now Sam was just a guy looking for a second chance, and Sully had been on the other side of that exchange, enough to know how much it means when someone trusts you, and in the two years since, he had never once regretted it. 

It took Sully a moment to realise Sam was still talking in his ear. "-I mean, Jesus this place has a lotta security, I only just managed to get by 'em."

This caused Sully to chuckle, "Kid, this is fort goddamn Knox, without a man on the inside there's no way you'd even get that far."

"Well, thanks for unlockin' the side gate then, when we get outta here drinks are on me".

"You might live to regret that kid" Sully replied with a smile, "You have no idea how much a beer costs in Rio"

Sully adjusted his bow-tie uncomfortably. The black tuxedo was far-flung from his usual Havana shirt and slacks, but a professional always dresses for the occasion. From here he could see other guests, milling around the grounds, the worst of Brazil's criminal underground all dressed up in their finest. It was champaign, diamond necklaces, and ill-gotten wealth as far as the eye could see. Sully didn't know who first said crime didn't pay, but he had clearly never been to one of Cristina De Susa's parties. The invitation described the event as a "High-End Charity Auction", an inconspicuous cover if a little over-done in Sully's opinion. Of course anyone dirty enough to get the invite already knew the truth, this was one of the most prestigious black-market auctions in the world. And their host? Well, Cristina was a celebrity in the world of black market antiquities, only seconded by her connections in the criminal underworld. She was also, as it happened, one of Sully's oldest friends. 

It was only a few moments later but Sam spoke up again, frustration clear in his voice. "So are we plannin' on sittin' here all night? When's this lady gonna see us. I thought you said you knew her?"

Man, this kid still had a lot to learn. "This  _ Lady _ ," Sully started, trying hard not to draw attention to himself. "Is one of the most powerful people in South America, if not the world. She'll see us when she goddamn feels like it".

As if on queue the music stopped, guests gathered towards the back doors to the house, an intricate glass affair which stretched across the back of the property. The guests were being corralled by the staff, dressed in black waistcoats and white shirts, chief among them a man with slicked-back black hair and goatee. The steward cleared his throat, tapping a spoon against the crystal goblet in his hand. "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce to you, our hostess this evening, Christina de Susa." With this, the patio doors swung open and, to the polite sounds of applause, emerged their host, as stunning as the first time Sully had seen her.

The woman screamed elegance, she had eyes you could get lost in and diamond earrings to match. Her black hair seemed to flow behind her, weightless as smoke, a bride’s wedding train moved with less grace. Her dress was emerald green, hanging loose off her shoulders and very slightly grazing the floor, nearly obscuring her strappy gold heels. Sully had no doubt in his mind that her dress cost more than most people's houses, certainly more money than Sully had ever seen in one place. Her light brown skin, like every aspect of her look, was flawless. Makeup applied without a smudge or an eyelash out of place, ornate gold jewellery hanging off her form with the precision of a military airstrike. And to complete the ensemble? A pistol, so big it looked like it could take the head off an elephant, strapped to her right thigh, in plain view of everyone. Sully couldn’t help but chuckle, Cristina sure knew how to make a statement.

She effortlessly glided into the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging witty repartee without breaking a sweat. It was like watching a lion on the savannah, Christina was so easily in her element it was hard to imagine her doing anything else. She was only ten years younger than Sully himself but she wore it impeccably, barely looking over thirty. She moved through the crowd without a trace, marked only by the single bodyguard always hovering just out of eyesight. He was good, Sully wouldn't have noticed him if he hadn't already known he was there, experience told him no-one that powerful walked with this crowd without at least one contingency. Even in her own house, she was never off guard. Sully respected that.

Christina's wandering eyes focussed on Sully, he made no attempt to avoid them, raising his glass of scotch to her in a mock salute. Christina made her way over slowly, talking pleasantries with guest after guest, her crystal champaign glass going to her lips, but never actually getting any less full. Eventually, she crossed the distance towards Sully, her bodyguard clearing her a path, subtle but forceful and though he blended into the background Sully could see the muscles, taught under his sharp black suit.

“Victor” Christina called, a playful smile dancing across her lips. Her voice was smooth and neutral, with the slightest hint of her Brazilian accent, so subtle you might have imagined it. Sully made a big show of taking her hand in an elaborate bow, his lips barely grazing the top of her knuckles. 

“Kiss ass” he heard Sam in his ear but didn’t miss a beat.

"Well I'll be go-ta-hell" Sully purred, "Christina my dear, you haven't aged a day". 

"Really?" Christina smirked, eyebrow raised. "Because you look like shit."

It was Sully's turn to smile, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Jesus Christina," he took another drag from his cigar. "You never did mince your words".

"Well, sometimes it helps to be straightforward. With these people" she gestured around her, "I have to be the hostess, to chat and charm and reassure, so they all go home wanting to spend again soon. But not you, I don't have to charm you, Victor."

"You never did." Replied Sully with a warm smile.

Sam's voice hummed in his ear again, "Okay, Yuck. Keep this up and I'm actually gonna barf." It took all of Sully's willpower not to roll his eyes at Sam's comment.

"Look, Christina" Sully started, "I would love to stay here and catch up over champaign and canapes but-"

She raised a hand, "But you're here on business, of course." She gestured back towards the house. "Please, follow me." 

They made their way back through the reception armed with smiles and honeyed words, Sully did his best not to draw attention to himself, he reckoned in a party full of mobsters and drug dealers lying low was best, wouldn't want anyone remembering his face if the plan went wrong. They reached the back of the house without incident, the open doors showing the grand staircase and chandelier behind them, leading to the upper levels of the winding mansion.

A hand shot out to stop him, Cristina's bodyguard fixed him with a cold stare, hand unmoving from the centre of Sully's chest. Christina rolled her eyes. "Let him through, Rodrigo, he was checked for weapons on his way in."

"Yeah, Rodrigo" Sully smiled, placing a hand on the burly bodyguard's shoulder. "Do what the lady says". Rodrigo lowered his hand, a humourless look in his eye. "Thanks, pal" Sully patted him on the shoulder as he passed. After he was out of eyesight he slipped his hand behind his back, pocketing Rodrigo's silver keycard.  _ No Seriously pal, thanks _ .

"Headin' up now" Sully muttered into his sleeve, masking his words with a well-timed cough.

Sam replied almost immediately. "Got it, I'm on the move, try not to have too much fun in there" Sam laughed "Ya dirty old man".

The interior of Christina's mansion was as spectacular as the outside, marble floors gave way to stone pillars and masonry gilded with gold. It was an exercise in extravagance, every piece of furniture was antique, every painting a masterpiece, it was showy without being overwhelming, managing to just toe on the right side of classy. The staircase led up to a series of corridors no less ostentatious than the entryway but somehow warmer, cold masonry was replaced with mahogany planks and plush furniture.

"I was glad to get your message Victor," Christina said, leading him through the halls, Sully and the bodyguard both in tow. "We haven't done business in years, I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me. Your client has remarkable taste, the piece you called me about is one of the finest in my collection."

Eventually, they made their way to an imposing oak door which swung inwards to reveal a cosy study. Of course "cosy" wasn't exactly the right word, the room was warm, smelling of old books and Christina's perfume, a handful of bookshelves were scattered about, the books looking more for show than anything else, the bound leather volumes stood without a crease or crinkle, looking antique but elegant, very on-brand. A large desk took up the centre of the room, backed by a wall of windows overlooking the grounds where Sully just was. Away from the prying eyes of guests, the space was more personal than the rest of the house, a few framed photographs littered the desk, showing Christina in her younger years. One, in particular, caught his eye making him catch his breath. It was him and Christina, maybe thirty years ago, not long after they'd met, they stood atop a collection of crumbling ruins, somewhere in Nepal if memory served. She had a scoped rifle resting against her shoulder, he was smoking a cigar with a goofy grin on his face, they both looked so young it was hard to believe it really happened, it felt more like a dream than a memory. 

His train of thought was broken by the smooth voice of Rodrigo, "I'll be outside should you need me, ma'am". He left without a sound, almost spookily silent for the large man's frame. Sully returned his attention to the room.

Opposite the desk was a large oil painting, a beautiful landscape of Rio, the swirling greens of the jungle giving way to the crystal clear waters of the Atlantic. At the click of a remote, the painting swung forwards, propelled on hidden hinges, behind it a gleaming silver safe, state-of-the-art, complete with a dial, keypad and fingerprint scanner. Sully pitied the man who tried to crack it, you'd have better luck just ripping the whole thing out of the wall. 

"Ahh, very nice" Sully chuckled, "a little old fashioned as far as hiding spots go."

She shrugged, "What can I say? I'm a hopeless sentimentalist. I keep it here for a few of my rarer pieces".

In a practised motion Christina worked the safe, it swung open after a series of clicks and clunks. All in all, it took her less than thirty seconds to get it open. Sat inside was a stack of red folders, another sizable handgun and an ornate gold bracer. 

"As I said, it's a very unique piece, only came into my possession a month or two ago." Christina retrieved the gleaming artefact from the safe. "Please be careful Victor, my experts tell me it's more than two thousand years old". Sully did his best to look offended.

Up close the bracer was even more beautiful than the images Christina had sent him. It looked like a piece of Roman armour, designed to be worn around the forearm but its construction was ostentatious, the intricate carvings created a web around the golden artefact with three red gemstones set into its front. The clasp on the bottom had a locking mechanism unlike anything Sully had ever seen, three concentric circles each of which could be rotated 360 degrees with a small jade pearl at their centre. But that wasn't the strangest thing about it, on the artefact's face was what could only be described as a compass, a central needle surrounded by four points, where the cardinal directions usually sat were four symbols Sully didn't recognise. They looked Egyptian, but Sully could tell the bracer was roman in design, very unique indeed. He fiddled with it experimentally, turning the dials on the clasp seemed to move the needle on the front but, it was unclear how exactly one related to the other. It was a puzzle, one Sully found increasingly familiar, it was what he was here for and he couldn't afford to leave without it.

Christina smiled, "I see you like it, a curious thing, isn't it? The Hathor Bracer, discovered in the 1850s it was thought lost to obscurity until found in turkey less than three months ago."

"Yeah, I know the story". Sully said curtly, "So, how much do you want for it?"

Christina smiled again, a little sadness clear in her eyes. "Oh my dear Victor, always missing the point" She gestured around her. "Do I really look like I need your money? Or your client's money? This piece is one of a kind and I'll give it to you-" Sully went to speak but she raised a hand, silencing him. "-in exchange for one favour of my choice."

_ Damn,  _ he swore under his breath, this is exactly what he was worried about. Christina was not the sort of person you wanted to be indebted to, Sully highly doubted she'd break his kneecaps or burn down his house but, she had far more devious ways of ruining your life. "Look, ya got my hands tied here and you know it. So, cards on the table, I can't leave without this bracer and I got a proposition ya gonna wanna listen to..."

Christina smiled a wicked smile, she looked like a predator with cornered prey, completely in control and delighting in it. Sully suddenly realised how she'd gotten so far in this business. The woman was a wolf, and he'd walked right into her lair.

She waited patiently, taking in every word Sully spun with gleeful attention. The story Sully told was mostly bullshit, peppered with enough truth to make it viable. It was an old con, promising an opportunity then making off with the investment, the hardest part was being seen as trustworthy by the mark, work Sully didn't even need to do with Christina. But it was dangerous, burned bridges aside, if he was found out it was an easy way to lose connections... or fingers for that matter. 

Sully finished his speech and waited a long second, it felt like it stretched for an eternity before Christina clapped her hands together. "Delightful," she said with a laugh. "I believe we have an accord, and concluded business calls for celebration, I'll get the champaign" She turned towards the drinks cabinet behind her. 

But Sully's business wasn't done here, he needed one more thing before he left, it was tricky and Christina was not going to be happy about it. It was the part of the evening he'd been dreading since he arrived, a gambit so desperate he was surprised to be attempting it. Christina de Susa was many things, a woman of ambition, a smuggler, a friend. But chief among them she was a hoarder, she never got rid of something if it could be of use. He knew for a fact that thirty years ago she'd acquired a set of journals from the mid 19th century and, even though she didn't know it, Sully needed them. Christina never got rid of something that curious so that means it was here, in this house, just waiting for someone to pick them up. And that's where Sam came in, he was going to make a diversion while Sully slipped away. But that cold feeling was back in the pit of his stomach, he was taking too long, something was wrong. Sully wanted to scream but he knew it wouldn't help.

He turned away from Christina, whispering into the mic on his sleeve. "Damnit kid, where the hell is that Goddamn distraction!"

And that's when he heard the first explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, this chapter is a little different from the first but I hope you enjoyed it all the same.  
> Please let me know what you think, any feedback at all is greatly appreciated as I always aim to make my writing better.  
> I'm having great fun writing this so please check back in a few weeks from now for the next chapter.  
> Thanks again.  
> J.


End file.
